A Well Organized Mind
by Why must I be Omelette
Summary: "To the well organized mind..." Nicolas Flamel has a chat with Dumbledore. Set at the end of SS.


[Disclaimer: I own nothing.]

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A Well Organized Mind

Nicolas Flamel only heard the third or fourth knock. _It isn't that I'm going deaf, _he told himself as he bustled to the door, _only that I've heard so many sounds over the years that I've forgotten how to listen properly. _It had been that way for several years now. His memory had never faded with age, but even with the row of Pensieves that he kept on a shelf in his study, he could no longer wade through all of his memories, and had automatically learned to ignore many things. It was never big things he forgot or missed, but small ones, like the boiling of tea or the passing of years.

Nicolas Flamel opened the door to see Albus Dumbledore standing on the other side, examining the wind chimes that hung beside the door. He turned and gave Nicolas his characteristically thoughtful, serene smile, and Nicolas thought of that smile, over a hundred years ago, worn on the face of a small boy. Alpheus Dumbledore had been his favorite pupil, in those years past. Even as Alpheus married and began his menagerie of alliterative children, he was still so idealistic as he conjured potions and studied alchemy problems. One thing they disagreed about— or so Alpheus thought— was the Philosopher's Stone. They would sit in the back garden together, Nicolas and Alpheus pleasantly arguing while Calliope and Perenelle watched the children play in the dying light. "I do not know how wise a course immortality can be, Nicolas," Alpheus would say, shaking his head. "Why not prolong your life, a bit at a time? What will you do in eternity? How can you keep the stone safe?" They never got much further than this however, for it was only so long in the discussion until Abigail, the oldest girl, would run carrying the baby, Aberforth, and a flower or trinket to show her parents and their guests. At this point the conversation would become lighter, dissolving until finally they went inside for dinner.

"Nicolas," Albus said patiently, and Nicolas came to the present. 

He shook his head as if to say, _how terribly ridiculous of me,_ and stepped from the doorway as to allow Albus to enter. "Come in," Nicolas said. As soon as Albus shut the door, Nicolas walked briskly in the direction of the kitchen, his stride steady. "I'll fetch some tea," he called out as he busied himself with the kettle and his wand. "Perenelle is napping right now," he added as he poured the tea and began to walk into the sitting room, balancing the cups carefully. He leaned down towards Albus, who reached for the tea from his chair and took it. Nicolas sat down in a chair opposite him. They sat in familiar, friendly silence for a few moments, both sipping their tea. Finally, Albus set his cup on a small table next to his chair.

"I have something to give you." He reached into a pocket for something and pulled it out, his fist clenched tightly over the object. He leaned forward and extended his arm. Nicolas reached out and took the object from him. It was wrapped in brown paper, and heavier than he expected. Slowly he unwrapped it.

It was the Philosopher's Stone. Again, Nicolas remembered those cool, humid evenings spent with the Dumbledores. He still did not know why he never told Alpheus that the Philosopher's Stone was truly as he imagined— a replenishing source of good health, not a fountain of immortality. He couldn't explain it to Albus years later, when the boy had realized, while staying with Perenelle and Nicolas, that the two drank the elixir regularly. Perhaps Nicolas didn't want the world to know that he was not as good an alchemist as everyone thought; perhaps he just liked to keep his secrets. 

"Why have you returned this to me?" Nicolas asked cautiously.

Albus sighed. "It is not safe at Hogwarts," he replied with a heavy sigh. "Lord Voldemort has come for it."

"Riddle?" Nicolas asked, feeling quite shaken, but managing not to show it. It wasn't his fault that he would forever remember Voldemort as Tom Riddle when most people had forgotten that he even had a past; while visiting Hogwarts, the boy had made an impression on him, and he would forever call him by that name. "You said it would be safe."

Albus loosely massaged his temples, and Nicolas was aware how old his friend was getting. "Someone was working from the inside. Three first years prevented it."

"First years? What did you say their names were?" Being thought largely of as senile had its advantages to Nicolas. He was often able to obtain information that would less readily available to those of un-addled brains.

Albus looked at Nicolas closely, his eyes twinkling. "I didn't. But if you must know, it was Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger."

Nicolas contemplated this for a moment. "Potter...HarryPotter?" he said with a bit of disinterest. Harry Potter was famous, certainly, and his father's family was well known, but the phenomenon with Harry Potter was too new to really interest him. However, the second name sparked his interest. "Weasley— is his grandfather Sir Crispin Weasley?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Crispin Weasley is his great grandfather four or five times."

"It's been that long? Well, he's a man to be proud of."

"I doubt his family even realizes that they're descended from him. He's not known by his surname anymore."

Nicolas raised an eyebrow. "You haven't told him?"

"I believe that each individual should find his own past."

Nicolas shook his head. "Sometimes people need a little nudge in the right direction." He winked at Albus. "I should like to meet the family of my old friend. Who did you say was the other— a Miss Granger? I don't believe I know of her family."

"Hermione is muggle-born, but she'll make her name famous yet."

Nicolas looked down at the Philosopher's Stone, suddenly struck by a thought. He looked up at Albus. "But I won't live to see that day, will I, Albus?" He paused. "That's why you've returned this." He clutched the stone more tightly "You want me to destroy it."

Albus shook his head sadly. "I cannot ask this of you."

Nicolas sighed. "I know, but I have no choice." He hesitated. "You know my greatest fear. If the stone is not safe, even at Hogwarts, then it must be destroyed.."

"Are you sure?" Albus asked sadly. 

"I must talk to Perenelle, of course," Nicolas said, trying to keep his voice casual. "But I'm sure she'll agree."

"You'll be missed greatly."

"I doubt it— I've lost interest in friendship lately, Albus." Nicolas said wearily. "I've made no new friends for years now. Frankly, I feel old, even if I haven't aged. However, I will miss the world."

There was silence for a while, and then Albus spoke gently. "Are you afraid of death, old friend?"

Nicolas thought for a moment, then replied, "No. It will be different than what I am accustomed to, but I'm not afraid of it. My father's words come to me now. He was an Auror, and I was so afraid that he would die. He was killed, eventually, but long before, he let me know that he did not fear it. He took the attitude that for the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure, and I share that feeling. I fear that I will have to clean a few corners of my brain before I go, though." he winked at Albus.

Albus smiled back, eyes twinkling. "A problem common to us all, Nicolas." He stood. "You will talk to Perenelle?"

Nicolas stood as well, and walked with Albus to the door. "Yes, yes. Tonight, after dinner. She'll understand."

"Good," Albus said as he opened the door, and let himself out. "Goodbye, Nicolas. Thank you."

"Goodbye, Albus." Nicolas watched his friend walk slowly down the walk. On an impulse, he called out, "Albus!"

Albus turned around slowly, shading his eyes from the sun as he looked up at Nicolas. "Yes?"

"Visit us soon, before..." Nicolas trailed off, and he shrugged helplessly.

Albus nodded, the corners of his mouth crinkling. "I promise I will. Until next time, Nicolas."

Silently, Nicolas shut the door, observing his world more carefully than he had in years, and letting his thoughts fall into place with the sound of wind chimes beyond the wall. 


End file.
